


The Hood (and the jacket, and the boots, and the pants)

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 1x05 Coda, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn't a Diggle-sized getup on a hanger with a helpful spotlight turned on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hood (and the jacket, and the boots, and the pants)

Upon returning to the warehouse John makes a discovery: there isn't a Diggle-sized getup on a hanger with a helpful spotlight turned on it. There is, in fact, only the one, the pieces of which are scattered around the workstation. He finds the jacket thrown down beside stained cotton swipes, a bottle of local anesthesia, and a tin with impact-flattened bullets in water. The pants are on the ground beside a stand of typical Oliver Queen clothing, boots beneath the computer desk. The hood itself is on the table Oliver seems to enjoy laying people across, by the padlocked crate the bow comes out of. 

John drags his fingers along one edge and gets a splinter.

He holds the pants against his legs and shakes his head at the picture it makes. Kid's too slim; narrow-bodied, whip-thin muscles that don't distort suit lines. The leather strains across his shoulders, tight over his chest as to make breathing difficult. The hood itself isn't deep enough to shade his face. He makes do with a pair of his own fatigues and boots and a swathe of canvas.

One thing can be said for the kid, however: the uniform is taken care of. The leather and Kevlar show signs of treatment and repair work and the jacket smells like soap. Smells like Oliver. 

John detects it easily when the material goes body warm, while he's waiting to initiate his Green Ninja Strike Attack. Aftershave that probably costs twice what John's Gillette does and clean, honest sweat. Not that Oliver Queen is _honest_ in any sense of the word.

The guns come out, and John twitches, now slightly uncomfortable wearing another man's clothing, scent of him still in the fibers. He's glad he forwent the hood itself in favor of his makeshift article. The vigilante feels more like Oliver than the kid he'd thought he'd known. _This is too intimate._

The hood would've been several times worse, he feels. Hot air and darkness, that smell.

John sees his moment and jumps. Another hour in the leather, maybe two, and then he can shed it. Here's hoping Oliver's scent hasn't stuck itself to him by that time.


End file.
